Chapter Seven

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Here it is, my lovelies! I know things are taking a turn for the weird in here, but again, this is supposed to be a happy-ending kind of fic, so please bear with me. I promise there will be more gore and sex coming up, LOL.

To the reviewers: The "guest" reviewer, thank you SO VERY MUCH! I really appreciate your compliment, and I am SO PLEASED my writing brought a gasp out of you, LOL. ALittleTasteOfMadness, I really hope you finish your own fic! I like writing and reading my own of course, but it's so much different to read someone else's. I'd love to see it. :) And thank you for your kind offer, I may take you up on it. And, oh, Sandra, I'm so sorry I made you cry! I'd love to give you hugs and comfort you. Trust me, everything will be okay.

This is a little shorter than most of my chapters, but I liked the stopping point and adding more felt cumbersome. I hope you all can read this chapter and trust me to make it work. Here we go!

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"My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please."

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That night, Norma curled away from him, all hard angles and stiff limbs. Norman tried his best not to take it personally; after all, it wasn't her fault that his stupid older brother had come barging in and made their love seem a vile travesty upon humanity. He stroked her gently, whispering his adoration to her, and they slowly fell asleep in the wee hours of morning.

He woke to her relaxed and content in his arms, as she always should have been.

"It will be all right, Mother," he said quietly as her eyelids fluttered. "Dylan will come around. And we have each other. We're together, and that's all that matters. Remember?"

Norma smiled sadly, cupping his cheek. "For now."

"What do you mean?" he asked, pulling her closer.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she traced his lips with her thumb. "This is... It's literally against the law, Norman. No matter where we go in this country, we'll be at risk of being arrested and kept apart if people know."

"That doesn't matter." He grabbed her hand and kissed it before burying his face in her hair. "There are other places. Spain, France, Sweden, the Netherlands... We could go there and be safe."

"Oh, Norman," she lamented, her heart tearing open. "How can we go? What would we do?"

"I've got my earnings from my book," he said quietly. "Tom was talking ten percent of all copies sold."

Looking at the happy, hopeful expression on her son's face, Norma couldn't bring herself to say what she knew; publishing was uncertain, they might make nothing on his writing, or next to nothing, and then where would they be? "Of course, honey. But it's a big undertaking, that's all."

Norman kissed her lightly and moved back, rising from the bed. "I'll make breakfast today. You just relax. Have a bubble bath, lounge around. Let me handle things for a while."

"Okay," she answered softly, snuggling back under the covers. "I love you, sweetie."

"I love you, too, Mom," he said brightly, closing the door behind him as he left.

She waited until he had time to descend the stairs before she pulled over the little wastebasket nearby and heaved into it, despite her stomach's near lack of content.

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I love thee as I love the tone
Of some soft-breathing flute
Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,
When all beside is mute.

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It was easy to watch him from the entrance to the kitchen, wearing her apron and humming to himself. Still, the smell of the bacon and eggs cooking sent her stomach into knots. "Good morning," she said unnecessarily, striding forward to take his arm.

"Good morning," he echoed happily, embracing her briefly. "Breakfast is almost ready."

She let him handle everything, watching him with haunted eyes as he turned to the frying pan. How could she give him up? But she should, shouldn't she? He was her precious baby bird, fragile and easily broken. She might break him by accident at any moment, and the thought killed her inside.

Moving up behind him in a mimicry of what he had done to her so often, she circled his waist and reached under the apron he was wearing to begin unbuttoning his pants. "What- Mother, what are you-?" He turned toward her, frozen as she pulled down his trousers and underpants, lifting the apron to expose his half-hard cock. He collapsed against the kitchen counter as she dropped to her knees. "I don't- The bacon, it's- Uuuuunnnngh..."

He was slightly soft in her mouth for only a moment before his body responded, shaft hardening deliciously between her lips. His fingers clenched in her hair and guided her motions over him.

She only ate a tiny bit of the burned bacon, but it was the best she ever tasted.

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I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils...
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She wasn't some stupid, green girl.

Norma knew what it meant that she couldn't go the last few days without being sick, without feeling fatigued; that her breasts were swollen and sore. The memory of the last time was all too clear. She looked down at the tiny bulge on her stomach, her hand resting over it. She was unsure of what to do.

Only once, that first time... It wasn't planned, she hadn't prepared, and she hadn't gone to get the pills until the next day. Once was enough, that's what they'd always said.

Now she knew it was true.

She came home from school that cold day in October, scared and determined. He'd been the one pressing for this, after all. A tiny white plastic stick had confirmed her suspicion, and she couldn't keep it from him no matter how frightened she might be.

Norman was in the office parlor, working on his writing since there wasn't anyone to check in or out. It struck a chord in her, seeing him hunching over his laptop with determination. The meeting with the publisher had gone well, and he was eagerly working on the sequel to his novel. Steeling herself, she closed the door and walked to him.

"Mother!" he said happily, his arms opening. She nearly fell into them, holding onto him as doubt assailed her. "Mother, what is it? What's wrong?"

She sat on the small sofa next to him, taking a deep breath. "Nothing's wrong, unless you think it is," she began, taking his hand. "Did you mean what you said before? That we could move to Europe and be together?"

"Of course." His face took on an earnest look, and he clasped her hands. "What is it? What's happened? Did someone... Did Dylan or Emma tell someone?"

"No, honey, no," she reassured him, running her fingers through his hair comfortingly. "It's... I'm..." She shuddered, digging deep inside to find the courage to continue. "It's just that- We'll have to find somewhere to go soon, because... I'm pregnant."

She watched him carefully, but his face quickly shifted from shock to bliss. "Really?" he entreated her.

"You're not upset?" she asked, her voice small. Visions of her previous husband's reactions to her news flew through her head; John Massett's grim anger and Sam Bates' violent outburst that left her with bruises for weeks. She hated herself for shrinking back as her son moved closer to her. Only after her automatically protective gesture of wrapping her arms around her stomach did she realize he'd only been trying to embrace her.

Norman's face fell as he processed her reactions. "I won't hurt you, Mom. Never like that, never when you don't want it." He paused taking in her look of anguish. "Is that what they did?" he asked softly, pulling her to him.

"Yes... Mostly your father," she admitted haltingly, allowing him to shelter her with his lanky frame. Her brain swam in a confusing swirl of memory, hope, and discord; that she was having a child with a child she'd already borne was causing no small amount of disbelief inside her. "I thought I'd lose you," she remembered, burying her face in his neck. "I... I bled the whole time, and I cried every day, thinking my baby was dying inside me. But eventually you came out... You were early, but so perfect. You still are." She stroked his cheek, remembering the day with a twinge of guilt and hope. "You're my miracle."

They held each other on the couch, Norman's tears slowly joining her's as they both processed what was happening, and as he accepted what had happened to her. Her son's large hand dropped to cover the new, barely visible roundness of her stomach, fingers splaying over it possessively. "I love you so much, Mother," he breathed into her. "I'd never do anything like that to you or our child, ever."

"Norman," she sighed back, covering his hand with her own. He leaned over her to kiss her gently, forgetting the time and place until they heard the door open.

Emma stopped short, seeing the intimate position they were in. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'll just come back in a few minutes..."

"Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry," Norma lamented. "I never meant for you to see-"

"Emma, wait," Norman cut off his mother, facing her as she turned back. "You already know what's going on between us," he said carefully. "You suspected before, and now it's been confirmed. Can we trust you to keep the secret, to help us?"

Looking slightly uncomfortable, the girl scratched her arm. "I mean... I only told Dylan. I thought he knew already... So, yeah, you can trust me."

Mother and son exchanged a look of understanding, and Norma pulled Norman back against her, pressing his hand over her stomach again with a bittersweet smile. "Well, then, you should be the first to know." Norman flushed next to her, shyly averting his eyes. "We're expecting."

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To Be Continued...

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Quotes taken from:

"Sonnet 147" by William Shakespeare

"I Love Thee" by Eliza Acton

"Metaphors" by Sylvia Plath

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